there's monsters at home,
by BeastlyRedemption
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a girl named Isabella who danced among the stars, twirled between nebulas, and had a smile that could rival the sun's laughter. And this girl? This girl died burning. You'd have to dig and dig and dig through and dirt and bone to find her. Bella is a vampire AU. Bella / Alice
1. i shoot down the stars

**So I posted this story a while ago and I ended up deleting it - and it wasn't popular- but I decided that it's okay! I can write for myself sometimes. I'm posting it here though because I know that some people actually enjoyed this and I hope that those people still like the idea I'm running with.**

 **Thank you all!**

* * *

Monsters - Conner Youngblood

/

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Isabella who danced among the stars, twirled between nebulas, and had a smile that could rival the sun's laughter. She was seventeen-years-old and cried for years when her orange cat died.

Once upon a time, her father came home with red eyes, whispering the stories of Titans into her hair and sharp teeth breaking into her neck, biting, biting, biting-

Isabella fell from the stars and into earth's harsh hands. And this girl? This girl died _burning._

/

She learns that time passes, ages.

But she doesn't.

She awakes to the same fire that killed her, burning in her throat; she's dying again, relapsing into a forever pain that seems to move along with her.

Nails ripping at her mouth, she stumbles out of ash and dust and starts to _run._

Colors blur in smears of charcoal and still simmering embers, and, she's still burning.

Warmth and rage and hunger hit her all at once, she falls to the ground in agony, clawing at dirt, growls sounding like roars culling out of her mouth. A heat throbs in her upper gums and slides out past her lip. Something under her fingernails makes her want to-

" _Help."_ A voice, choking on red. He reaches towards her, hand half burned off.

She doesn't even hesitate.

Her teeth, (fangs?) rip into the skin of his throat, crimson splashing across her tongue. There's a deep crack somewhere that makes her grin, blood dripping from her teeth.

This man dies with prayers on his lips.

She pulls back, observing the gaping and ravished hole in his neck with odd glee. Her shirt is a thing of murder, soaked in the remains of this man's death and of her hunger.

She licks her teeth and looks at the man before her.

Fuzzy memories, but, she does know him-

 _Bishop Nichasin._

She stumbles back, horror painting a new flavor on her tongue.

She's known this man, has known him since she was born. She grew up with his daughter and listened whenever he would talk about eternal life.

And she killed him, she just- she just-

Another pained groan catches her attention. This time, the groan is from the butcher. From the weaver. From the alchemist. From the lord's son.

The fire alights in her throat once more, and, with a pained sob, she leaps forward to deliver death.

And again.

And again.

And again.

When the sun explodes into stars at the end of the day, you'd have to dig and dig and dig through and dirt and bone to find Isabella.

(She's under all that blood.)

(She finds her parents and her house. All that's left of them is ruined ash with deer footprints pressed into them. The house a skeleton, resembling her ribs.)

She turns, walks, away, away, away. And she keeps walking until she reaches the end of the earth.

Then? Then she turns around and starts in a new direction.

The world above her changes, ages, and she stays put.

/

It takes her one look in silver painted glass to understand what she's become.

(She almost remembers a girl named Isabella, the girl from the stars, died burning. Almost, almost.)

They talk about demons with red eyes and sharp teeth, the hunger for blood in their lungs. _Vampires,_ they whisper into the night, torches lighting up their face and weapons grazing against trees.

She kills another tonight, and another, and another. She kills and kills until her entire existence has been drenched in the deaths of others.

It's so hard to breathe when you have murder on the back of your eyelids.

/

Days and days pass, but she sits in a cave, hungry and tired and watches in agony as snow drifts down from branches.

She almost wants to speak to the snow, use her voice that hasn't been heard in… a long, long while.

(She's lost count after the seventh decade.)

Eyelids start to close, welcoming death and remains of ash into her bloodstream with every breath.

She feels good, despite the promise of death, and it's because she knows she won't be able to hurt people anymore.

Can't- there's a soft pitter pattering crunch in the distaste, growing louder.

Can't hurt- warmth hits her side, burning her nose, her fangs out and awake, ready to rip into flesh.

A hunger, _no no no please, I can't hurt another-_ A flurry of movement, and then the whimpering of a beast and a sick sucking slurp.

Can't hurt anybody anymore.

Black eyes glisten along with the red, glisten along with the wolf's blood and fur, against the backdrop of snow.

(The trees will later whisper, when the earth is dying, they will whisper that they've never seen anybody look happier than that demon did that very night.)

/

Her eyes burn gold now, gold in a place among a sea of brown, grey, blue, green. She's not normal and people talk about her, _Death's daughter,_ they'll whisper, _come to kill us all._

And at that, she'll laugh, but not behind alleyways, but in the streets, smile muffled by layers of her coat. She's done hiding now.

She hears now that the year is 1898. It comes as a shock. She's never heard numbers being used as years.

These humans ask her what her name is, who she is, where she came from, questions, questions, questions, and she finds herself tripping to keep up.

 _I came from London,_ she explains with a polite smile.

 _And your name, pretty one?_

She falters, remembers burns and ash and death and her parents-

 _Isabella,_ blisters against her tongue, eyeing an ice cream cart wheeling down the road, _Swan. Isabella Swan._ Immediately they relax, smiling back at her.

They've humanized her, made her one of their own. She will now be known as the girl with a pretty smile and odd eyes, _oh, but she's a darling, really. A little odd. Very nice, though; won't have trouble picking up a husband._

Isabella learns of customs quickly, watching through windows and from tree tops. She learns and adapts, plays humans so well that they have no reason to mistrust her.

She's good now, right? She's found a way not to kill? She's good?

(No. No, she'll never be- never be good. Even now, she's turning herself into something lethal, fangs behind her blunt teeth. And blood dripping red, red, red from her nails, her fingers, smile, teeth, eyes, just dripping, soaking in blood.)

A man tells a joke, she laughs, ducks her head.

Her mouth burns.

/

Lies, always always lies.

(Lies, lies. _You are a lie._ )

/

She slips.

She slips and it's all her fault and-

A man in the woods as she was hunting, slips and falls, bleeds, and _Isabella? What are you doing out here? Why are you covered in-_

A man she knows, Jeffery. He has a wife she's friends with, two sons and one daughter.

She snaps his neck, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. It's been such a long time since she's tasted the nectar of human blood-

A man, Jeffery dies gurgling prayers to his God.

Screams shake the earth that night. (Not his screams. Not his screams.)

She slips.

She slips and it's all her fault and-

/

Somebody, something finds her in the woods later, when the sun comes to rise and glare at her smugly. The rays saying, _you don't belong in my light, creature of the night._

She's still crying, blood dried and brown on her lips.

She senses more than hears or smells the presence.

Guttural growls rip out, emotions still a raw thing, fangs out and ready to maim.

The man behind her is as pale as she is, eyes redder and fangs poking out from his lips.

He whispers in awe. "You're an Old One, too."

She freezes, fangs retracting into her gums. "I beg your pardon?"

He nods towards the red. "An Old Vampire."

Dark eyebrows frown, fear etched into her voice. "I don't believe I know what you're-"

"Look." The man cuts her off, baring his teeth and watches as his fangs drip lower out of his mouth. "I'm just like you."

/

He tells her his name is Bartholomew.

He asks her how she turned and she can't give an answer other than " _fire."_ But he seems to understand anyway. And with sad, red eyes, he tells her about the fire.

He tells her about the Old Ones, about how they're gods pretending to be humans, ichor running through their veins. He tells her how the Old Ones started to evolve into the New Ones, the ones that didn't have fangs and shimmered in the sun, the ones with the powers.

And then he tells her about the Volturi, the royalty of the vampiric world. They are New Ones, with powers no man could imagine, trying to play gods. The Volturi got wind of the Old Ones, the ones who were immune to the powers. And because of that, the Old Ones were invincible, a threat.

The Volturi started gathering an army.

They eradicated the Old Ones with force and fire. Burned villages to the ground. Zeus against Kronos, the same old story for centuries.

"That's how my wife died," Bartholomew signs with heavy, heavy eyes.

"My family died the same way." Isabella mutters, anger and pain filling her veins.

He looks at her, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

They don't talk until the sun's mocking glares fall back into the moon's haunted smile.

"So," Bartholomew starts, helping her dig a grave for Jeffery. "How come your eyes are gold?"

/

Isabella teaches him how to hunt animals, how to get past the smell and the awful taste.

"Blah!" Bartholomew spits from his teeth, the neck of a deer in his hand. "These animals taste so bad."

She shrugs, hiding her smile behind her hand, and her cheeks hurt. "The meat-eaters taste a little more like humans. Try one of those, next time."

He makes a face that suggests he's absolutely appalled at the idea of a "next time," but he nods anyway, diving back into the deer's neck.

Later, he asks how she found they could live off animals.

"I tried to kill myself by starvation." Isabella shrugs, making her way further into the woods. "I like to think that it almost worked; but a pack of wolves came when my body was just starting to attack itself."

Bartholomew nods like he knows, and he does, oh, he does.

"How many times did you-"

"Once. It didn't ever occur to me that we could try to die." Isabella casts a look behind her, sees his scars. "What about you?"

His laugh, ice and gruff. "I've been trying to die everyday since Rebirth." He kicks a rock. It goes flying for miles and miles.

"And what else have you been doing?"

"Fighting in wars," Bartholomew chuckles a little. "I wouldn't recommend that, however."

"Why not?"

"Humankind is going to burn itself to the ground. War after war... Soon enough, no one will be left to claim victory."

/

"Are you scared of living? Of what you've become?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes."

/

"Come with me." Bartholomew walking side by side with her the next week. People are glaring and watching, whispering. "You and I," his teeth glinting, looking oh so sharp, too sharp. "Let's leave and travel, become the people we want to be and just _go._ "

Isabella licks her lips, tastes stars and her ears twitch, hears, _"is that young man courting Isabella? Shame, my son was going to ask her this weekend. She would have given my family such lovely little ones."_

"I don't know, Bat. I mean, can we just go? What if we attract the attention of the Volturi? Certainly it can't be safe for us to travel like this, in pairs."

His lips shake, hands twitching at his sides. "You're right. I'm sorry- so sorry." And laughs again, age on his breath and loneliness woven into his muscles. She sees it in the hunch of his shoulders.

"We can keep in touch." Isabella offers, gold eyes pleading. "I'm tired of being alone, too."

"You're leaving?" It's a tone of surprise. Isabella notes that his eyes are getting lighter.

"I have to. New York isn't really my cup of tea."

"All right, English." Bat jokes, nudging her softly.

"I don't even have an accent."

"You do." He insists. "When you get really emotionally overwhelmed."

"Liar." Isabella snorts, something that would have been called "unlady-like." "I've had roughly around four centuries to get rid of it, if you're right in your calculations."

They turn onto Isabella's apartment street.

"Almost certain. If everything your pretty little head told me is true."

Isabella sighs, vision blurring in red again.

Bat notices, sighs with her, "When do you leave?"

"Tonight."

"And where will you go?"

At this, Isabella frowns, watching as a little boy chases a ball down the end of the street. "I haven't got a clue."

/

She leaves in the middle of the night when Mr. Carthy's snores echo down the hall, when the moon feels nice and soft against her skin, nice and soft and understanding.

She leaves, doesn't look back.

/

In her story: she's chasing ghosts of who she once was, body made of teeth, her heart a violent thing, always finding ways to hook itself upon her own ribs.

She forgets herself easily, goldfish memory of the girl who thought she could dance with the stars, swallow them whole.

She finds herself a monster, mouth gushing red with all she's done, an ache that tastes like alone in her bone marrow. She's been smelling smoke for years, years, and

she doesn't even think there's a fire.

/

Blood on her feet as she walks away, stumbling blindly into an oblivion she can't yet name, drunk off the high of blood when she hears it.

Angry growls high strung like bees, the harsh pitter of paw prints that almost sound like the drums of death.

A bear sized wolf rips itself out of the trees and towards her.

She feels nails scrape against her stone flesh, sounding more like a knife against glass.

She shakes, feels her fangs grow out and then she lunges.

A match striking against the fireplace, champagne glass falling to the floor, blood matted hair stuck to her forehead. This is what it feels like to fight, to move and hold death in her hands.

When her fangs lock inside of this wolf's shoulder, she wonders how she went for centuries without fighting.

The wolf yelps, manages to kick her off and limps away.

Isabella watches as their bones shift, breaking and fuses again and again.

The fur sinks back into flesh and in its place is a boy.

Isabella blinks.

/

They watch each other warily, keeping track of where they shifted, where they're looking.

"Why don't you just kill me?" The boy asks, his voice gruff and low.

"I don't kill humans."

The boy's mouth drops in surprise. "What?"

"I feed off of animals," Isabella licks her teeth, tasting blood and fur. "Not you, because you taste bad, but regular animals."

He opens his mouth, closes, opens. "So you aren't a vampire?"

"I am."

"How can I believe you?" He barks accusingly. "How do I know you won't kill humans?"

Isabella shrugs.

"Well," He stands to his feet, holding his rib cage. He's still on edge. "You're eyes are gold for one thing."

She tilts her head. "How do you know they're supposed to be a different color?"

He grins, shakes as he bites his lip. "I've killed your section of vampires before. I caught him munching on some girl's neck by the creek. Your section is harder to fight than the ones who don't have fangs but," He shrugs. "I killed that guy just fine."

Isabella feels a pulse beating in the back of her throat, kind of naked, kind of raw. "Did you catch his name, perhaps? Or how he looked?"

The boy looks to the left. And then to her. "He had some really weird pale hair, and was kind of tall." He snaps his fingers. "Oh! Bartholomew. He tried introducing himself to me right before I snapped his head off."

Isabella swallows, feeling more like she gulped down acid. "Oh."

"Did you know him?"

"He was a friend."

The boy stiffened defensively. "Vampires cannot hunt humans on this land. He had to be punished."

"I know," Isabella croaks. "You don't have to worry about me."

He finally looks satisfied, only a little mistrustful. "Fine. I'm Jacob by the way."

Her mouth turns. "Isabella."

She should have left with Bat when she had the chance.

/

She finds that Jacob is not the only wolf in Forks, Washington.

He's the Alpha of a pack, and once they learn of her existence, they promptly draw boundary lines, add restrictions in the treaty they've decided was necessary.

Even though Isabella doesn't plan to bite or kill a human, she agreed to immediate death if she were to break the treaty, anyway.

Despite the mistrust of the other wolves, Isabella likes to think that Jacob and her have become something like friends.

Being around him is easier than breathing, and she knows it's because he's lonely, too.

He cracks jokes a lot, him and his wide smile. He calls her and old lady when she informs him that he stinks.

"I am a dog!" He yells at her, playfully shoving.

And later: "You should attend school here. If you're staying."

Isabella would be lying to say she hasn't considered settling here for a while.

"Maybe I will."

/

She has to leave before she gets the chance.

She hears Jacob's running paws, and smells him before she sees him.

"Bella!" Jacob yells, teeth bloody and skin shining. "You have to go. You have to leave!"

She hops down from a tree branch, eyes curious. "Wasn't it just yesterday that you wanted me to stay?"

"You have to go," He's frantic, eyes shifting wildly around them.

"Jacob what's wrong? What's happening?"

He grips too tight on her arm. "The Volturi are here."

Isabella freezes. "What?"

"The Elders set up a meeting with them- I don't know Isabella. But if they find you, they will kill you. Go."

And so she does.

/

She comes back, after the fear of being caught subsides, after she's hunted and attended some school in Chicago. Years and years later, but she does.

Jacob tells her, "Seventy- seven years, Isabella." And god, it has been, it must have. Jacob is older, "nineteen," He answers when she asks.

And then, he grabs her in a hug, tells her he missed her.

(She missed him, too.)

"You going to give settling down another chance?" Jacob wonders one evening.

"I don't know. Can I? Are the Volturi ever coming back?"

"No," Jacob shakes his head, smirks at her. "We're good at keeping people out of Forks." Something like 1938 burns in her chest at his words. She's missed so much.

The corner of his lips are lower than before and he has a little bit of stubble on his cheek that scratches her forehead.

She's missed so much.

/

When Isabella first entered school, she learned again that humans are ninety percent empty galaxies with hopes and dreams they can taste but never hold.

She learns again how much it hurts to live among them. Like putting cigarettes out against your own ribs.

"Come on," Jacob whispers. "Let's go," and he steers them over the a cafeteria table in the corner. Away from heartache and pain.

She already hears people whispering about how, about the pretty stranger with odd eyes, and it tastes too familiar. Far, far, too familiar.

"You're going to be okay."

Bella's not sure if she believes him.


	2. i feel so alone

**Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. I think next chapter will be from Alice's POV, let me know what you think about that.**

* * *

Her music is too loud. So loud that it's not a distraction anymore, just a buzzing. Constant. But the key changes annoy her - the pattern of them doesn't make sense. So loud, so loud, so loud - she can't hear a word the singer is saying.

A girl walks past, pretty, blonde, delicious -

 _No- stop. Don't._

 _Oh, but Isabella, dearest, she'd taste so good._

"Jake," she forces out, gasps, pleads. His attention is on her immediately. Dark brows and clenched jaws survey her face, take in the void of her eyes.

Rolling his shoulders, he sighs. It's hard for him to be around her while she's hungry. She watches his teeth inch forward, watches his muscles start to bulge. He attempts to stifle them. "I wish you'd have skipped today to go hunting."

Fire, fire, fire, drowning. Red. _Keep it together, Isabella._

A teacher walks past. They both stiffen. Both for different reasons. "Terribly sorry. Don't be too mad." Hurts to talk. She can't think. Music too loud. There are no words.

"Ground yourself."

She tries. Looks at the clock in the cafeteria. 12:30. Blinks, holds her breath. 12:45. "I had a cat once." Garbled song sing words - they sound of flint and fire but she's never known anything different. "Sunshine - I loved her. I lost her."

"Cats don't like me." Jake laughs quick, happier, he's relaxing. _I should, too._

"Yeah, well, I don't like you either." A joke. They both know it.

With a smile, he tsks. "Y'all crazy cat people don't know any better."

Forcing a smile. "You know I uh - " She pauses, loses her train of thought as a particularly good smelling boy crosses by her table. Bronze tousled hair, veiny arms. "I really just want to die."

"Not funny." He glares at her, standing, pushing his chair in. "Anyway, I'll see you next class period."

Shaking, blinking, she nods. "Okay, see you in sixth." Alone, again.

Isabella gathers her things. Loneliness will always be the monster that greets her.

She sees a couple hold hands, kiss.

Always.

/

Nobody sits next to her. Not even if they are assigned. They move to the ends of tables - they'd much rather stick out into the isle than sit next to her.

She doesn't blame them, for the most part. She's molded herself into a thing of cruelty, into a thing to fear. She is death and they flock to shelter like animals would, like animals should.

No, she doesn't blame them but - as a new boy is introduced to the class, as he sees the only seat available is next to her, he goes to the other side of the room to plant himself down at the end of an overstocked table - she's upset, slightly.

She wasn't even scowling this time.

She's ignored. The teacher flushes (in fear? In arousement?) when he looks at her. She's never sure.

Her and Jake only have one class period together, so she's stuck in agonizing repetition for the first few hours.

Today, at least, had something interesting to provide - something different. She heard about it from the mouths of teenage boys, mouths talking too fast for their brains.

"Tryouts are today! I might try again, I have a feeling this year, you know?"

Basketball. Forks High is well known in the town for its basketball.

Isabella has been to many games in her life - she'd be happy to explain to everybody who gushed that it was a basketball team full of teenage boys. Nothing special.

Maybe she doesn't understand.

"Oh man, you think we're going to come home with a trophy this year?"

"Hell yeah!" A boy. (A man?) Large, burly, loud. His name is Emmett and he's a dark haired prince charming who is the brother to four others. He and his brothers play for Forks High.

She doesn't understand.

She listens with bittersweet sadness - the kind that reaches out and stabs her lungs, but brings a teary eyed smile to her face.

She wishes she could remember what it was like to be happy - to be human.

Sighs, turns away. The lesson drones on, correcting the teacher's mistakes in her head.

The devil waves to her from the window.

Her mouth rots with heat.

/

She ends up leaving early that day, with a text sent to Jake that reads as " _sorry!"_

He'll understand, he just worries.

/

An endless eternity, colors swirl and smear into a kaleidoscope of death and fire.

High off of blood but - the deer Isabella had killed was young, full of life.

 _But he tastes so good._

… _Stop_

"Thank you." Isabella bends down, smooths the fur over the large laceration in his neck. Her fangs go back up into her gums. "I'm so sorry."

She stumbles through the woods, feels the blood drip, drip, drip, off of her hands and,

She falls, through the ground, through the dirt and moss and grass and stone, through the earth. Falls hard and fast and when she opens her eyes next she can see the stars.

Her hands stick to the blood painted grass blades as she tries to pull herself up.

Atlas is her companion when she walks her way home, weight of the world on her shoulders. Weight of her own world, weight of the blood and murder and death, and death, and death.

She sees the devil on the edge of the tree line - his smile wide and large, too large, too white, too sharp. He waves. His laugh makes her head shake.

/

"Hey," Jake yawns when she walks in, throws her shoes off. "You were out late."

Isabella bites her tongue to prevent herself from telling him that she fainted in the woods.

"I'm sorry - you know how I get sometimes." She isn't really sure what that means, so she's sure he's confused too.

He shrugs anyway. "I had hamburgers for dinner."

"Yeah," Isabella snorts. "You've had them for three nights in a row. Have you ever considered trying to eat like, I don't know, a salad?"

Scoffs. "Rabbit food." And then, "Ooh, rabbit. That sounds good. Do you think Forks has rabbit meat for sale anywhere?"

When she doesn't answer he goes on. "I could make rabbit hamburgers with it."

"Oh god. I would kick you out."

"You could have a rare patty, slurp up the blood."

"I'd rather die. Thanks, though.

Yawns again. "I'm heading to bed, you ass."

Panic starts to set in deep in her chest. "Oh, ok. Sleep well."

He pauses his stretching when he hears the shaking in her voice. "Are you ok?"

"Yes." It's not believable, but maybe she meant to sound unsure, maybe she wanted the attention, maybe she's tired of being alone, listening to the moon mock her.

" I can stay up." It's 2:30 in the morning, he had stayed up for her, and still school is in a few hours.

"No," pinches her nose, places her elbows on the counter. "No, that's ok. I'll be better tomorrow. I'm just … tired." She hopes Jake knows what she means.

A pause, pause, pause. Then, large arms wrap around her in a hug. "I love you. Tomorrow is Friday, maybe we can do something? Go see a movie?"

"Yeah," Isabella pats his huge, burning hot hand. "I'd like to do that.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sleep well."

/

They don't go see a movie.

There are periods of times where Jacob is called to duty, and he's forced to stay on his side of the treaty line for a few days, maybe a few weeks.

School is arduous without him and his bright smiles and low, happy laugh - carefree shoulders and sarcastic brows. Loneliness closes in on her, pressing against her lungs. It makes everything a little harder to breathe. 1898 beats against her bones, reminding her of the hundreds of years she's walked the earth alone.

 _How pathetic,_ she snarls to herself. _The devil crafted you himself, I cannot believe you're so dependent on a_ dog _._

But, there is some relief.

Some days, Isabella drives to the treaty line. She finds Jake there waiting with a smile and a chess set.

"So, how was school today?" He moves his knight in front of one of her pawns.

"Awful." She captures one of his rooks. His pout is instant, and the furrow of his eyebrow makes an appearance as he tries to figure out his best option for this game. "Mike asked out one of the Cullens today for prom."

Picking up a bishop, he winces in sympathy. "Yikes, which one? How did it go?"

"Rosalie. And," she sighs, calculating how to move her knight across the board to capture his queen. "It went as expected. He asked during English. She didn't even look up to tell him no."

She takes his queen.

"Ugh! Bella!"

She shrugs. "Jessica Stanley was rather upset about it, I'd heard her talking all about it today in Anatomy."

"Jessica Stanley?"

"The one with the curly hair, really likes Dirty Dancing. She actually did her Junior research paper about it, did you know?"

"Ohh," He uses one of his pawns to attack her rook. "Anything else?"

"You missed the first day of tryouts."

He accidentally makes an opening for his king, five moves away. She thinks she'll let him win this time, though. "I'm not worried about it." He smirks. "Coach already said I'm on the team."

She's going to take his king in three moves instead.

"Do you think we can go to college this next year?" It's asked timidly, as if unsure about how Isabella will respond.

Guilt hits her like a freight train. Of course Jacob wants to go to college. He's never been. He's nineteen and hasn't had his first kiss yet. He's been stuck with her. She opens up her king, lets Jake take it with a pawn.

/

Blood is dripping out of her arms, her mouth, her eyes. She dies for the third time that night, when she walks into an empty house. She dies for the third time and she is always seventeen.


	3. i won't be home soon

**Hey guys, it's been several months but uh here you go! iT'S REALLY BAD! And also in an Alice POV. Please be sure to drop a little review - every one helps a lot and they make me happy! Thank you!**

* * *

 _Alice_

She was ten when she learned that no matter how much love she put out into the world, she wouldn't get any back.

It never stopped her from trying, though.

She looks at Isabella and sees herself. Bruised, battered, with Death grinning over her shoulders. Something like an injured animal, so beautiful. Even with a bear trap around her ankles.

Alive watches delicately long fingers scribble something on a piece of paper, a frown appear in the dips of blood red lips.

She grabs her own piece of paper. _"Emmett,"_ she writes, _"I'm going to do it."_ She passes it to him with a nudge to his shoulder.

His eyes widen - a quick scrawl and the paper is back in front of her, his expression panicked. _"Alice. Don't do it."_

 _"I'm gonna."_

 _"She might seriously hurt you. Do you not remember last year? What she did to Tyler?"_

He's referring to the time Tyler attempted to smack her ass in the hall. She was new- they had no idea what they were dealing with. She remembers the snarled threats that were spat through sharp, glinting teeth.

 _"He got what he deserved."_ She shrugs as she writes. _"I will not be smacking anybody's ass in this setting."_

He reads her note, reads it again with a whine and makes eye contact with her. This time he says aloud, "Thank god I have Carlisle on speed dial."

Alice glances at Isabella's stiff shoulders again, strong jawline. "Me too."

She'll be cool, calm, and collected, she thinks as she gets up and makes her way over to Isabella's table in the back of the classroom. _I'll introduce myself first,_ she thinks. _Then, I'll ask to sit down. She'll say yes out of politeness._

There are only a few things Alice knows about Isabella Swan.

One - Alice side steps a classmate's backpack- she loves her brother. Last year, some of the freshmen called Jacob horrible names, slurred at him in a racist manner. The boy took it in stride, but Isabella was gasoline igniting, a match against the backdrop of night. Furious, and with good reason. She had slammed one of the kids up against the locker, teeth pulled back into a snarl.

He was in the hospital for weeks trying to treat a broken collar bone.

Two - she's alone. Alice has maybe four classes with her, and she's never heard her speak before. Not once. The way she curls into herself, into her hoodies, hides behind her hair, lets Alice know that she's missing a few pieces of herself. She wants to help her find them.

The third thing that Alice knows about Isabella Swan is the most obvious thing. Isabella is inhumanly beautiful.

Golden eyes snap up just as Alice reaches the end of the lonely girl's table. Bemusement colors her eyes, shapes her mouth.

Alice can't stop looking at the gold flakes swirling into a depth that's too old and wise for the beautiful girl.

It occurs to Alice that this is the first time she's ever been this close to Isabella Swan.

Silence. Silence. Silence. Too much. The shorter girl takes a deep breath. "C-Can I borrow a pencil?"

 _Awesome, just as planned, Alice._

Isabella seems to blink out of her confusion, cold face back in position. There's a yellow pencil being offered to her before Alice gets the chance to open her mouth again. She takes it with a simple "thanks," and finds herself walking back towards her desk that holds an amused Emmett.

"Well, Tink… that went well."

"Shut the fuck up." Alice seethes as she places her newly acquired pencil in her bag.

In reality, she didn't need another pencil.

/

"Well," Rosalie starts off, putting her key in the ignition, "How did it go?"

Alice watches as she revs the engine slightly, a self satisfied smirk pulling at the edge of her mouth.

"As well as expected." Emmett pauses to burp. "She fumbled it."

"Ugh! Emmet, shut the fuck up!"

While Alice was busy making a fool of herself, Emmett had gone to the family group chat and live texted them the situation. Some of the texts include: "Player has the ball and now is making her way to the goal. Confidence in every step!" and "Oh no! She has been tackled! Will update later on how Player 13 is dealing with this travesty!"

"What happened, babe?" Rosalie asks, cutting a glare towards Emmett to quiet him down.

"I- I don't know. I looked into her eyes and I just… couldn't think of anything to say, I suppose."

Rosalie shrugs. "You're not the only one. In Russian class, we had our Oral Proficiency Interviews today and she was partnered up with the Newton kid. Fucker forgot the word for "said" after she was done speaking."

"It's her eyes," draws on the foggy window. "I think. Something about them…" An odd color for eyes. Gold. Not light brown but gold. So, so beautiful though.

They ride the rest of the in silence, Alice's cheeks still rosy and Emmett's crunching of chips offer an atmosphere of familiarity. They're seniors. It's scary to think that the grey skies and rainy clouds and even _Aunt Bertha's Gas Farm_ won't be a reality for them come a few months.

Alice will miss the faulting red bricks lining the outside of her school and will miss laughing uncontrollably when Angela contorts her voice while reading aloud and when somebody starts to sing a line from _Africa_ by Toto and everybody joins in. Tone deaf voices failing to hit the notes correctly, aggressive screams of "I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA!" and "HURRY BOY SHE'S WAITING THERE FOR YOU," filling the halls.

She breathes in deeply, closing her eyes. Takes in the smell of Rosalie's conditioned leather seats, the coolness of the air, the sound of Captain and Tennille coming out of the stereo.

 _Nothing gold can stay, I guess._

/

Esme is there to greet her always. A soft smile and a gentle hug. She's wearing mom jeans today, and a bright purple and blue windbreaker.

"Wow, mom. Mood." Rosalie laughs a little, appreciating the crimped hair.

"You like it?" Esme twirls a little. "I went through my closet today and I found some clothes from my high school years!"

"I didn't know they dressed in 80's style back in the 1800s." Emmett laughs at his own joke and Esme flicks him in retaliation.

"Whatever, kid. I have a lot more style than you." Esme then turns her motherly gaze upon Alice. "So, uh, I heard you tried to talk to Isabella Swan today."

Flushing in embarrassment, she curses Emmett under her breath. "God, did the entire town hear about it?"

"It didn't go well?"

"No." Pouts Alice, hoisting herself on the counter. "I stuttered and asked for a pencil."

"Oh well," Esme wipes her hands off with a dish towel, looking around the house for more chores. "It's nice that you tried to talk to her. She seems so terribly lonely."

Hunched over shoulders, barely moving mouth, eyes that speak of an unforgettable past. "Yeah, I just - I don't think anybody should be that lonely."

She receives another hug and then the subject changes to more school related events.

"Yeah, tryouts are going well. We already know who our starters are. Jacob Swan and Tyler made the team of course. I don't even think Jake tried out or anything."

Alice loses herself in thought again, reconstructing the the hard bite of Isabella's jaw line, the shadow of her shirt splayed across her collar bone, thick and dark eyelashes framing those wonderful, beautiful eyes.

"Alice?"

"Hm?" Startles out of thoughts and realizes that Rosalie is talking to her.

Cocking an eyebrow in her direction. "How did cheer tryouts go?"

"Oh good, um, a lot of freshmen girls decided to try out, which was nice to see. It's really hard to put yourself out there so that was brave of them. We have a few ideas for our varsity team but JV is still up for grabs right now."

She excuses herself after this, citing a headache as her reason for going up to her room.

Who takes care of Isabella and her brother? I've never seen a parental figure near them. In fact, they're the only ones with the last name Swan.

Flopping down on her bed, she groans. In the words of Emmett, she _really_ did fumble it today. It's unlike her to not show grace in all social situations. It's stupid how one person can make her fumble over her own words. The girl didn't even say anything! She just stared with those gorgeous and deep eyes, handed her a pencil wordlessly.

I'll try again tomorrow. With that, sleep enveloped her, finally putting her chagrin at ease. **  
**


	4. i shoot for the moon

**Hey, guys! Happy Pride month! Here's a long chapter!**

* * *

It's easier to breathe when the sun hits against her skin, drives away the darkness of the night. For a while, she gets to pretend. Pretend that Jake's alarm is her own, that she awakes with groggy and crusty eyes and a head of hair that looks impossible to untangle. Instead, she feels the exhaustion in her bones - never ending, never changing. It's always there, like an omen, a promise, a reminder. It says, " _you're a monster and you know it. Did you enjoy licking your mouth clean of blood?"_

A creaking alerts Isabella to Jake's presence.

"You know, when I was still human I used to love waking up to the sun."

Rubbing a towel through his wet hair, Jake nodded. "Man, I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't sleep. I'd probably kill myself."

Isabella snorts. "I've tried that and it didn't work." Silence is her answer and she winces as she responds. "Sorry. I know that wasn't a joke."

"Let's hurry to school today, okay? I have to make up a test for Boyarsky."

He leaves her in stinging silence. _Strike one of the day, Isabella._ It seems like she can never stop messing up, never stop ruining things. Especially when it concerns people she loves.

The blood of her own mother is on her mouth now, the blood of her fellow villagers, the blood of herself and the blood of Jacob and of Bartholomew's and people will never stop bleeding, dead or alive.

And her hands are slick with it all.

/

She wants to be happy.

A couple link hands, flushed cheeks and small kisses pressed to the underside of an ear.

Knows that she will never be happy. People like her, with the things she's done, don't deserve happiness.

A darkness that she can feel ebb from the depths of the woods surrounding the school. Knows that, instead, she belongs there in solitude. She doesn't deserve Jake's warm, happy smiles. She doesn't deserve to sit in a room with the humans she so very badly wants to desecrate.

If she focuses hard enough, she can imagine how the blood of her teacher would taste, of the blonde girl, of the small one looking at her from across the room.

She wants to kill and maim because that's what she was made to do. You can't rewire a monster.

Instead, she grips the underside of the table. Woods crumbles into her hand and she holds it there - a testament to her power.

Jake, of course, holds her steady. "When's the last you hunted?" He whispers under his breath.

"Two weeks ago."

"You're pushing it," he growls, and immediately she can feel the excess heat come off of him. It's hard for him, she knows. There's only so much that he can do to hold back his instincts.

"Eating gets boring." Especially after one has been alive for centuries.

He groans. "That Cullen girl keeps staring at you. Why?"

Isabella can feel an eyebrow lift up in question. "Which one?"

"The small one. Her name is Alice."

"Oh." A beat, another. Pause. Pause. Pause. The clock reads 2:10. "Well, two weeks ago she borrowed a pencil from me."

"She actually approached you?"

"Yeah. It was a little weird and I think she was embarrassed."

Isabella lifts her head up to find that, yes, the girl is staring at her.

Alice seems to be surprised when they make eye contact and she can see the girl bite down, mouth open and close. She brings a hand up to a small wave.

Startled, Isabella keeps staring. _What is she waving for? Is she waving at me?_

The smile drips away from the girl's face and the hand starts to drop.

 _God, you waited too long._

Isabella shifts her mouth into something of a small smile. Instantly, she can see the tension fall away from Alice's shoulders.

"Bud, you really suck at this whole socializing thing."

"Shut up, Jake."

/

Angela Weber reminds her of a girl she once knew. This girl, with her stiff shoulders and wise smiles, died drowning.

This girl she once knew walked right into a lake, claiming she could breathe underwater, knowing she couldn't.

It took three months to find any remains of her. An old grandmother had found an arm, torn and bloodied.

Isabella can still remember the blood stains on her own dress. She's killed a lot more people than she can remember. Those murdered ghosts come to her in flashes.

Soft, soft lips, small hands, flushed skin,

and blood, warm and slick and sticky, and god her screams…

When Ben fixates himself in her direction, like a compass, he reminds her of a man slaughtered, begged for his wife and child and died with God's name on his tongue.

/

Something kisses her shoulder that night. Nothing good, nothing good.

" _Come out and play."_ It whispers at her, and the fresh scent of blood fills her nose. " _You are starving yourself. Free the monster inside of you, Isabella."_

"Oh god," she heaves. "Go away, go away." Covers her ears and holds her breath. "Get away from me."

When she uncurls herself from Death, the sun is high in the sky and plagued voices are nowhere to be found. But the bruise of the kiss and the smell of blood sears every organ inside of her body.

When she glances in the mirror, she sees a caricature of herself, bones hollowed out and teeth too, too sharp to play nice. Her fangs glint behind the front row of her teeth, and they promise destruction and blood and death.

/

Later that day, both Isabella and Jake are in Lowe's looking for a new bathroom mirror.

/

Eventually, they do go see that movie. Jake buys tickets the night before it leaves the theaters and he makes sure to drag Isabella off of the couch.

It's a horror movie that Isabella doesn't know the name of.

"Those are real, you know?" Referencing the Wendigo on screen, she turns to Jake, eyes clenched and tight expression. A loud scream bursts from the speakers and Jake's chest caves in on itself.

"Shut up."

"No, I'm for real." Isabella continues, ignores the scathing look from her furry friend. "In 1918, at the height of the Spanish Influenza, a group of like, five hikers disappeared in the mountains of Oregon. A survivor escaped and was half torn apart. It was wild."

"I actually think I remember hearing about that." Jake remarks through clenched teeth and sweat drips from his pale face. "God, this movie is a lot worse than Rotten Tomatoes said."

"You look like you're about to vomit."

"I feel like I am."

"Okay, and we're leaving! C'mon, big guy." She stands, hoists Jake to his feet, forgetting the barely touched popcorn. "I'll drive home."

Outside offers relief to Jake and his rolling stomach. As he leans up against the wall, he apologizes. "Next time, we'll go see an actual good movie and I won't eat so much steak before we go."

"Hm. I get to pick next time." She doesn't comment on the complete _lack_ of steak Jake had before they left, but that's neither here nor there.

The drive home is a comfortable silence, and the drive back home is beautiful as always. Isabella is fine with completely silent drives, but Jake doesn't do silence so well.

"Forks has its first basketball game this weekend. Will you come?"

Isabella pretends to mull it over. "Well, I'll have to check my calendar, but yes I do believe that I'll be able to make it." She tosses him a teasing glance, and the reassurance makes him happy. She winces. She definitely wouldn't win sister of the year with the way she acts.

"Thank you."

"Of course." Isabella flips her turn signal, switches lanes. Jacob leans his head against the window and she mutters again. "Anything."

/

Mondays are arduous, to say the least.

The air is different on Mondays. Kids shamble through the hallway like half arisen zombies and teachers over-do the coffee. The school feels almost as dead as Isabella actually is.

It's not a pleasant feeling.

Jake is talking to her while taking notes. He talks with the corners of his mouth, melodic and hypnotizing in a way. It's amazing that somebody can put so much of themselves into one small muscle movement. Beautiful.

"You're staring again." Jake reminds her gently.

"God," Isabella casts her head down. It's something that she forgets to watch as she molds herself into the fake cast of humanity. She knows Jake doesn't mind the staring - knows it's a way for Isabella to grasp new concepts about humanity. But other people look at them both oddly when she stares for a little too long. "I'm sorry, Jake."

"What are you confused about this time?"

"Emotion." She focuses her attention to the peeling of the wooded sticker covering her desk. The edges are starting to peel. Isabella decides then that it's a good idea for her to slide her fingernail underneath the sticker and pick at it. Her eyes sting at the admission.

A reminder that she will never be anything other than what she knows she is. A monster, through and through.

"You understand emotion just fine." Jake disagrees, reaching for his block eraser, having completely destroyed the one on the tip of his pencil.

"No. Only negative emotion, really."

Jake let's the subject fall, not knowing how not to argue with Isabella. He never wins.

Isabella picks at the table some more. "I just wish I was a little better at conveying basic emotion is all. I hear these kids, they always say I look like I belong in a statue museum."

Jake nudges her to get her attention, draws her line of sight to the small Cullen girl, dark hair and bright smiles. Only, Isabella doesn't get those smiles. She gets shy, curious glances and barely corner smiles. "You could always practice. I've been listening around, I guess she's been working up the courage to talk to you for days now. Make it easier for her. You're not exactly the most approachable sort. And," he continues, "it'll be nice for you to have a friend when I'm gone. The Cullens are good people."

Practice? "Hm." The fake veneer of the table comes off in long one strip.

/

Practice. Practice. Practice. The words repeats itself in her head for the next week. What does Jacob mean by practice?

She evaluates the girl more throughout her time in school. She shares most of her classes with the small, pixie - like girl. Actually, Isabella shares a lot of classes with the Cullen siblings in general. Though, in Biology II, Isabella shares that class with both Alice and Jacob's friend, Emmett.

Practice. Isabella blows out an irritated breath. Practice.

 _Ugh, what the fuck!_

Practice. Unintentionally and without her knowledge, Isabella fixates her gaze upon the small girl, deep in thought. _How the fuck does one practice on another human?_ Also unintentionally, she finds herself listening in on the conversation they're having.

"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good about this weekend. I'm sure I'll get over this cold that I have going on. If not, I'll push through it, not a big deal." Emmett rambles, chin in hand, staring at the ceiling as he, indeed, sniffles.

"I'm a little nervous." Alice shrugs, a frown pulled at the edge of her mouth. _Fascinating,_ Isabella thinks, looking closer. _What is it with humans and communicating emotions with their mouths?_ Alice continues. "Some of the freshmen girls on the JV team don't have their steps down yet. I don't want that to reflect badly on the basketball team. Or on me."

"They'll be fine! You worry about the same thing every year." Emmett claps her on the back, and in doing so, the corner of his eye catches Isabella's fixed gaze on his sister. Isabella freezes. What does she do now? Look away?

"Hey, shorty." Emmett whispers under his breath. "Isabella Swan is staring at you."

 _God, fuck me!_

Isabella frantically starts to think about what it is she should do. Does she look away, pretend it didn't happen, or meet on the challenge head first?

Alice turns around, a thousand of curious emotions swirling in the depths of silver eyes, a kind of grey Isabella has never seen grace a human before. Alice's head tilts.

Remembering, Isabella responds with a small smile, a small wave.

That seemed to be the correct thing to do. Alice's eyes light up immediately, a toothy grin making its debut appearance.

Isabella finally looks away, allowing herself this small victory. She did good, or at least, she hopes she did good.

/

Jake has to leave during sixth period. The wolf calls again.

/

Practice. Isabella drums her finger on the steering wheel of her car. Practice.

The idea of practicing makes her excited for the dreary day at Forks High.

Even if she's been in the turn lane for five minutes, waiting for seven-thirty traffic to get by.

Maybe she'll try saying hello to the receptionist. Maybe she'll wave at the lunch lady, or her Russian teacher. Maybe she'll talk to Alice today.

Alice.

As she runs a frantic hand through her hair, creatures more fierce than the mere butterfly lay wake in her stomach. She sat on her bed thinking about a conversation with Alice. Alice, a human girl who is soft and warm and has blood rushing through her veins every second of everyday. Alice, a girl who can express emotions at the corners of her mouth and with a tug at her eyebrows. Isabella isn't even sure what is pumping through her own veins.

Her dad's teeth at her neck, burning, burning, burning. " _That's ichor you feel, Isabella. Embrace it."_ Screaming, screaming, screaming - the blood and burnt flesh and

the screaming doesn't ever stop.

The traffic doesn't break, either. Isabella sits in the turn lane, blinker on, for ten more minutes. Isabella stares on, counts the cars that have forgotten about their headlights.

/

When the receptionist is filling out her tardy slip, Isabella steels herself.

 _You are way older than she is. You can say thank you._

"Thank you!" Isabella blurts out, snatching her tardy slip and damn near sprinting out of the front office.

 _Well, that could have gone worse than it did, at least._

/

Practice, practice, practice.

She says hello to the librarian. Says thank you to the lunch lady, and apologizes for not accepting an apple. Isabella smiles at Mr. Petrov and the blinding smile he gives her back makes the blood on the back of her eyelids fade just a little more.

Today, she even answers a question, ignoring the love-sick stares and jealous sneers when she answers in perfect Russian. Most of all, she pretends not to see the shocked look from the other Cullen sister. The beautiful blonde named Rosalie.

Briefly, and perhaps, mistakenly, she thinks about introducing herself to Rosalie.

But the tight clench to her jaw and the steely glint in her eyes gives Isabella a second thought about doing so.

/

Later, she'll reflect on not saying hello. Feel bad because people say the same things about Rosalie that they do about her.

/

Fifth period. Biology.

She gets there early, no Jacob to keep her occupied in the hallways today.

Her hands shake as she takes her seat. Alice. The thought of her invites rotting acid to scorch the soft lining of Isabella's stomach. Should she try and say something to her today?

She stares at her desk for a few minutes, deep in thought. Her visions blurs around the edges, the fault in the wood reveal themselves to her. Why is she so nervous to be around this girl? A girl whose hands are soft and kind and who has a dimple on one side of her cheek, but not the other. A girl so thin and fragile that Isabella feels like her own arms could wrap around Alice's lithe frame twice.

Students start to trickle in, now. Jessica Stanley, bold with her bright colored lipstick. Mike Newton, hair so gelled that it looks like plastic. Emmett Cullen, smile too white, thick muscles and a tight chest. Then, Alice. Alice. Alice.

The girl has her arms linked in with another Cullen boy. His name is Jasper and he has eyes older than he is and lips that are sprinkled with war. He holds his body in a way that reminds her of an atomic bomb and a clenched jaw that would fight well in the trenches of World War I.

His hold on Alice is protective. When he walks in, a quick glance around the room reassures him that no threats are in the presence of his other family members. He's interesting to watch. Jasper walks almost on the balls of his feet all the time. Scars litter the side of his neck, the soft side of his arm.

Alice whispers something to him softly, and the smile he gives her is sweet, affectionate, but undeniably small.

 _Are they dating?_ Isabella wonders quietly, removing her gaze from the Cullen kids, looking out the window instead of watching them sit at their desks.

Jasper lingers around both Emmett and Alice until the warning bell. He's cautious in the way he allows himself to bleed in front of his siblings, in the way he allows himself to show love, to kiss the top of Alice's head and clap Emmett's back.

The bell rings. The lecture is short today, worksheets were handed out and the instructions were easy to understand. After that, they were left to their own devices.

Isabella allows herself to listen in.

"I'm glad Jazzy is back." Alice comments, idly doodling on her paper.

"Me, too. The game would have sucked this weekend if he wasn't back." Agreeing, Emmett flips his paper over.

Silence passes over them, Isabella can tell it's an uncomfortable silence - one with questions in the air.

"What's going on, Tink?" Emmett finally gives in, a sigh leaving his taut shoulders.

"Well," Alice starts, then stops. She grabs a piece of paper from her notebook, scrawls something, hands it to Emmett.

He seems to know what it says before he even reads it. He responds verbally. "You don't seem to remember what happened last time."

She grabs the paper from his hand, writes on it again.

"Okay, whatever you feel is the best. Scream if you start to feel like you're dying."

Isabella scowls at her pencil. Though she knew that it was wrong to eavesdrop, she desperately wanted to know what they were talking about. Why does Emmett feel as though she'll be in danger? What does Alice not remember the last time what happened?

So lost in her own world, she doesn't notice the presence at the end of her table until the sweet smell of lilacs hit her nose.

Snapping her head up, she makes eye contact with Alice.

Wringing her hands together, Alice appears to be trying to think of things to say, wide eyes not breaking contact with Isabella's. Finally, she takes a deep breath.

"Can I sit here."

The "yes" falls out of Isabella's mouth before she has a chance to think about responding.

Isabella records the way Alice daintily pulls out the chair, sits down, and scooches herself in. So very human in her movements but also so very careful. Lilacs and honey start to fill her nose, make her head spin.

They make eye contact again. But this time, Isabella is graced with a bright flash of teeth and beautiful crinkles around darkly framed eyes. "Hi." Alice says, almost a whisper. "My name is Alice Cullen. Thank you for letting me sit here."

"You're more than welcome." Isabella blurts out, stutters to try to add on. "No, wait, thank you for wanting to sit here." Alice giggles slightly and Isabella rushes to conclude her sentence. "Oh! And also my name is Isabella Swan."

Alice sticks out her hand, chuckling all the while. "Nice to meet you, Isabella Swan."

Reciprocating, Isabella shakes her hand and winces, forcing her mouth to open in order to distract herself with the overwhelming warmth seeping from this human girl in front of her. "I'm terribly sorry. You'll have to forgive me, I don't have a lot of practice in the social aspect of life."

"It's okay," Alice smiles all the same, gently letting go of her hand. "May I ask where your brother is?"

"At home, sick."

"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that." She can hear the frown in Alice's voice, even though she's focused on the edge of the table. _So emotive._

"He'll be better before the game, though." Isabella feels like she needs to reassure her, knowing a lot of this might be in earshot of Alice's brother.

"Will you be there?" Alice is still turned towards her.

Glancing up, Isabella can see silver eyes trained on her, a soft smile in place. "Yeah. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"That's very sweet of you, Isabella." A pause rings out, not knowing how to respond verbally to that, Isabella nods. But, Alice continues. "Hey, do you know what the answer to number three is? I can't seem to figure it out."

"Here you go." Sliding her completed paper towards Alice, she gets time to study her face.

Dark, long eyelashes, freckles sprinkled across her nose, across her cheeks, mouth curved in concentration, foot tapping against the floor… human. All so very, beautifully, heartbreakingly human.

Practice. Practice. Practice.

"Will you be attending the basketball game, as well?" Isabella asks quietly. Alice nods. If the shorter girl is annoyed with the question, her face doesn't show it. Not even the corners of her mouth display displeasure.

"Yeah," a sigh. "I'm the varsity captain. I really do have to be there."

"You don't want to be there." It was supposed to be a question, but it came out as a statement instead. Isabella hopes she didn't overstep her boundaries.

"No, no, I do. I just…" She shrugs delicately, flipping the pencil between her fingers. "And, well, I guess I say this every year, but I'm not sure my JV team is ready for their first cheer." Alice looks up to further explain, and Isabella is privy to the furrowing of her brows. Frustration and worry knotted alongside her brow bone.

They make eye contact again. Isabella loses herself momentarily, tracking the movement of Alice's eyes. Hers flicker between Isabella's own, follows the sharp line of her eyebrow to the lower edge of her face.

"I'm sure you'll wrangle them in." Isabella breaks the silence, murmuring. Alice's eyes move away from the lower half of her face and flick back up to Isabella's eyes. A soft smile replaces the concerned and tight frown Alice had been sporting only moments earlier.

"Thank you." The bell rings and Alice picks up her stuff. "I'll catch you on the sidelines, Isabella."

She watches her leave, and for the first time it doesn't feel like blood is clogging her airways when she takes her next breath.

/

"I talked to her today."

"Who?" Jake grumbles, holding his rook in his hand, trying to figure out where to place it.

"Alice."

"Oh," Jakes eyes widen. "Well, how did it go?"

It's Isabella's turn to frown, now. "Good, I think. Or well, I hope it went well."

"I'm sure you did great!" Jake smiles and laughs, misguidedly placing his rook down in an area open for attack. "I'm proud of you."

Isabella decides to not take his rook.

/

She manages to find herself an isolated spot at the top of the bleachers, maneuvering her way through yellow and blue painted bodies and already alcohol laced breath.

She can see Jacob warming up, easily tossing up some layups and somehow, despite his size, slipping out and around his fellow teammates. She forgets who they're going up against, either Port Angeles or whatever nearby town after that. This team, though, sports jerseys in purple and red. The kids are big and burly, too. Nobody seems at all intimidated.

In truth, the only reason Isabella came to these games was for Jake. Though, she did manage to find a blue shirt and a yellow bracelet to show her school spirit. She's not super fond of bright colors.

On the side lines, the Forks Keres stand. Vibrant in their yellow skirts and blue tops.

Isabella searches for Alice, loses her breath when she finds a pair of stormy grey eyes fixated on her face. Timidly, she picks her hand up in a slight wave, expecting one back as they've acknowledged each other this way before. However, obviously this time wasn't the same as every other interaction before.

Alice winks at her.

Isabella's mouth goes bone dry, breath suddenly halting in her chest. _Oh, wow._ Alice is breathtaking with her too short skirt and tight top. Making out the muscular lines of her body underneath the thin material, Isabella can feel her hands start to shake. Momentarily, Isabella considers the existence of Alice being something other than human - it shouldn't be possible for a human to be as attractive as Alice looks now.

Isabella watches as Alice ushers a small group of younger looking girls up onto the gym floor. Supposedly, they were performing, but how could Isabella know with the hip swaying that Alice was doing in time with the music? How was she supposed to pay attention when, yet again, Alice searched out her own eyes, an emotion she didn't recognize deep within them?

Loud cheering broke her concentration. The game had started.

Jake did well, as always. With the combination of being so tall and intuitive, he had the other team stumped for most of the game. He made sure to pass his other teammates the ball, cheered for his team as Jasper made a basket, and groaned as Mike was tripped. Emmett scored often, too. Both him and Jake working like a well oiled machine.

Isabella sat in fascination. The quick flurry of hands and the squeaking of dry shoes against the gym floor made her realize what about basketball was so intoxicating.

Forks was up by thirty points when the halftime show began. She watched as Alice's girls poured out onto the gym floor, setting themselves up in formation. The music starts and the Forks Keres explode with life and ferociousness, obviously meant to intimidate the other team's small and unimpressive cheerleading team.

Stunned, Isabella keeps her eyes on Alice. Dancing in ways Isabella is both interested in seeing and almost embarrassed, Alice dominates the floor. The tight skirt doesn't offer much coverage and neither does the top when it rides up on Alice, displaying the smooth skin underneath. She's incredibly… seductive in her slow, alluring movements, the flirtatious glances that she tossed at the crowd.

Isabella, with all of her might, with her centuries of being alive on this earth and never having seen anything like this, is powerless to do anything other than sit like an idiot with a gaping mouth. Much like the rest of the audience.

When they're done. Alice's gaze goes directly to Isabella, taking in her stunned expression and open jaw.

She bites her lip, smirks.

Isabella is never missing one of Jake's games again.


	5. i'm lost out in space

The sun filters through the light and grinning clouds, unhindered in its pursuit to find land, to warm the damp, starving grass. It's nice weather outside for almost a week, dipping into the weekend until the telling dark clouds hover on the edge of town. Alice has taken to light colored tank tops, shorts that push the school dress code, sandals that show off the little ankle tattoo she has.

Isabella, unlike the sun, is nowhere to be found.

Alice had hoped to catch her after the game, skin alight with adrenaline and all of her inhibitions tossed out the window. She wanted to smile at her more, see the startled expression on her face, the slight dip of her stained lips.

" _Did you like the game?"_ She would have asked after Isabella had gotten done talking to Jacob. She would have turned around, surprised, but her expression kind.

" _I did."_ Alice imagines that her mouth would have tilted into a smile, something small that she was comfortable with. She's never smiled with her teeth. Not ever. But that was okay, Alice was determined to see it one day. She would be the cause, she was sure.

Alice would have taken the time to look her over, and she would have looked _good_. Tight dark jeans, black long sleeved shirt, a bracelet on one hand and a small watch on the other. Comfortable, never stepping out of bounds, never near to pushing her own bubble. This, too, Alice would be looking to amend.

" _And… did you have fun?"_ Alice's voice would have been slow, low, and entirely too sensual. Isabella would have blushed, she's sure. That would have been the triumph of the night.

" _Yes. You performed very well."_ Isabella would have said, polite as always. Esme would be impressed with her. " _Did you have fun?"_

" _Oh,"_ Alice would have grinned. " _I had a_ lot _of fun."_

Of course, that conversation didn't happen. Maybe it's better that it didn't, Alice reasons. She's not sure the girl would have been able to make eye contact with her for weeks, and at worst, a month.

When Isabella was absent, Jacob tended to sit with some of the basketball guys, and they were as loud as Emmett wanted to be, but his desire to sit with his family won out on most days. Today, he does sit with them, his laughter shaking the whole cafeteria.

For lunch, it's just the two blondes and her. "I don't know." Alice shrugs. "She misses a lot of school, do you think her grades are going to be alright? I can't even imagine how my grades would look if I had missed a week of school and then some."

Rosalie sighs quietly through chewing her sandwich, having to hear about Isabella this entire week was finally taking a toll on the blonde. "Alice. I'm pretty sure she's in the top three percent of our class." A pause to take a sip of some water. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Top three?" Jasper glances up from his phone, munching away on some dried jerky. "Will she be speaking at graduation?"

Rosalie shrugs. "Probably not. When's the last time you saw that girl participate in anything other than brooding and sneering at the majority of the student population?"

"That's not nice, Rosalie." Alice frowns, pushing her food back and crossing her arms over her chest.

Indignant, Rosalie digs at her cheeks with her tongue, too upset to continue eating, apparently. "Why do you care, Alice?" She pauses for theatrical effect, Alice knows. "It's not like she's particularly nice, either."

"You know she doesn't _mean_ to be mean."

"She doesn't _mean_ not to, either."

Alice sits, fuming, refusing to make eye contact with her sister. Logically, she knows Rosalie is right. She usually is. Isabella is mean, she's known for it. It's nothing for the girl to glare at people like Mike Newton or even snipe at Jessica Stanley when she approaches the girl to ask an innocent question. Isabella is _mean_ and she doesn't get along well with others — she is _beautiful_ and _mean_ and _spiteful_ but...

But, in the same breath, Isabella has never looked at Alice unkindly. The words that stammer out of her mouth are endearing, shy. Her eyes are even soft and gold, not the flint black she sees when she's been forced to communicate to other students. It has to mean something, still. Alice opens her mouth to say so, but is cut short when Rosalie decides to speak again.

"It doesn't matter as much to you because she's pretty and she's broken and you're a sucker for brunettes." Rosalie picks her sandwich back up, a roll to her eyes. "I know, babe, I know."

A wicked blush curls its way up Alice's neck, but she doesn't try to deny any of it — she would be lying. Isabella is pretty. Isabella is broken. And Alice does, indeed, love brunettes.

"Has she ever been mean to you?"

Rosalie shakes her head. "No, I haven't really talked to her." She eyes Alice carefully. "But maybe I should."

"Has she ever been mean to you, Jaz?" Alice turns towards him, tries not to fidget under their scrutinizing gazes.

"No, I don't have a class with her." A sly smile picks up at his face before it disappears. In that instant, she knows he's watching her. Watching how her hands twitch nervously when she talks. He's cataloging her, figuring her out from the inside, what makes her tick. He's always been good at that, figuring people out, picking them apart at the stiches.

Rosalie is similar that way, though she's more malicious and less forgiving about the information she finds. She's usually a pretty good judge of character.

Even when Alice doesn't like to hear about it.

They're watching her, now. Patient, cold, calculating. _Ugh, blondes._ But she knows she has to say something to justify her questions. What could she say, what could she say? _She's broken, broken, shattered. Her leg is stuck in a bear trap, bullet holes are in her shoulder. Am I supposed to leave an injured animal alone in the forest to die? What would you do?_

"She just looks like she needs a friend."

It's not good enough, the faint smiles deepen and they _know_. _What do they know, what do they know?_

Alice was thirteen when she realized people have grinning devils behind the calm of their faces, was thirteen when she learned to be cautious. She remembers why; there's no hiding from these two.

As the bell rings, Alice whispers that she has to use the restroom, and the knowing look in Rosalie's eyes has her unnerved. In a house full of traumatized people, nobody really has their own secrets.

Rosalie isn't wrong though, in whatever she was assuming.

Alice is quick to find Jacob, his chest still shaking with laughter from before, the corners of his mouth stained with ketchup.

Jacob, too, is alone. He does a good job fooling everybody — he participates in school sports, he's Rosalie's Vice President in student government, he smiles a lot and is far too loud for anybody to think that this man doesn't love himself. For Alice, though, it's easy for her to calculate the same downward slope of his shoulders and compare it to Isabella's. They're identical. The rise over run equalling loneliness and heartache. Under their long lashes, she sees the evidence of sleeplessness, of troubled, turbulent nights. Her heart aches for him just like hers does for Isabella. She knows what it means to be a foster kid - but they don't have the unyielding support of Carlisle and Esme. As far as she knows — or at least from what the newly circulating rumors say — both of them got out of the foster care system at sixteen years old. Jacob got a lot of help from the tribe in La Push, the one his grandfather was apart of, and they pay a lot of Isabella and Jacob's living expenses. Granted, though, that he goes over there a few times a year for a week or sometimes longer. Isabella has old money from her family that she was given access to when she turned eighteen.

Of course, Alice has no way of knowing if _any_ of this was the truth. If she had to go with her gut feeling, she'd call bullshit. The sharply clenched jaw of Isabella and the need to find somewhere to belong that Jacob has lets her know that, realistically, neither of them have known love, have known family.

Alice has cried for them, a little. A lot.

It's just that Carlisle and Esme have given _everything_ to her, their love, their compassion, their time and patience. It helped a lot, especially coming from a not-so-great living situation that she endured before they found her. She owes her entire _life_ to those two.

Isabella and Jacob don't have that.

So when she chirps happily at Jacob, despite hardly knowing him, she does mean it.

"Alice." Jacob says, surprised. His long, confident stride turns to an awkward, lanky one. He palms the back of his neck, obviously a little confused. He does have every right to be confused. On one hand can Alice count how many times she's communicated with him.

"You got a little something here." Alice points to the side of her mouth and grins when he goes to wipe it off, a deep blush flushing over his cheeks.

 _Is that how Isabella would have blushed?_

"How are you, Jake?"

"Good," he sighs, a little embarrassed, a little disgruntled.

"That's great news!" Nodding, Alice continues. "You played very well last weekend."

"Oh, thank you."

They sit in silence a little, the air laden with awkwardness entirely caused by her own presence. Jacob is just too polite to do anything about it, really. Alice knows that they aren't actually siblings, but they share a lot of similarities. Isabella, too, would be too polite — to her, at least — to tell her to go away, to ask what she wanted.

She debates with herself just a moment longer. _Would it be weird if I asked him about his sister?_ She decides that, yes, it would probably be weird. But, how else is she supposed to figure out what she wants to know? Sometimes, you have to do things you don't like, and that's just how it is.

"So…" Alice trails off, internally winces. Not the best start to this question but, well what can you do? "I haven't seen Isabella around lately."

"Oh, no." Jacob's hand starts to knead the back of his neck a little too harshly. "She's been sick."

"Sick." Alice's eyes narrow, that's the same answer Isabella gave to her last week when Jacob ended up leaving. "Must have caught something really bad."

"Oh, yeah, yeah." Jacob nods. "For sure. I think she touched a door knob and stuck her hand in her mouth or something." At her silence, he continues, nervously. "You know how gross the people of Forks are."

Alice nods, slowly. People get sick, she's knows this. Obviously she does. It's just so interesting that both of the siblings seem to be sick every other week, presented with some of the worst immune systems alive. But, both walk through the hallways unaffected during flu season or any bout of cold.

She relents, she's just being ridiculous now. People get sick. She knows this. She _knows_ this. "Poor girl." She tsks. "Make sure she's drinking a lot of water. Isabella seems like the worst patient."

Jacob's relief is palpable. "I will." He says, laughing. "She's such a grouch when she's sick."

"Will you tell her I said hi? I hope she gets better soon." Alice rocks back and forth on her feet. "And, that I saw her at the game, I hope she had fun."

His smile is wide and bright, full of teeth. Sharp. "Will do." The warning bell rings. "Okay, Alice." Jacob points over his shoulder. "Gotta get to class, I'll see you around."

She waves goodbye and heads to her fourth period, which isn't a class, but she's the nurse's assistant during fourth.

Mrs. Heminger is sweet and gentle and a little bit easy to trick.

"Alice!" She whispers, scandalized. "You understand that you're asking me to violate HIPAA, right? I can't just _give_ you that information."

"Well, don't give it to me. Just tell me." Alice's smile is blinding and she knows it. While Rosalie and Jasper are entirely too nosy, her power is getting her way. "Besides, who am I going to tell? I just want to check up on my fellow classmate."

Mrs. Heminger stares at her hard for a _very long time_ , before she goes over to her filing cabinet, unlocks it, and starts to shuffle through it.

"Okay, who are you interested in?"

Alice goes over to sit in her chair, spins around in it, once, twice. Thinks about the phrasing of her question. Thinks about oddly golden eyes and the slope of her neck. "Isabella Swan."

A few more moments of shuffling, opening and closing another cabinet door before Mrs. Heminger emerges victorious. "Okay, so it looks like…" The old nurse takes a few minutes to flip through the layers of papers behind the cover of a manilla envelope. "So it looks like Isabella has a rare blood type that brings on really bad symptoms of anemia."

"She's anemic?" It has to be a joke. Nobody is gone for more than a week because of anemia.

The nurse nods. "Yes. She also has history of multiple seizures, poor circulation, and a profound sensitivity to a lot of allergens."

Alice is a really, pretty reasonable person. She's good at math, excellent at english, proficient in science, so there's no way that she's having such a hard time trying to fit this equation together. She already knew, she supposes, about the poor circulation. Definitely couldn't have known about the seizures. Maybe Isabella is just skipping school. Maybe Jacob does, too. Maybe they're tired of seeing people smile and laugh with their friends, family. Maybe they're tired of hurting. But why would Jacob lie?

She would be, if she had to see people smile everyday, then in return have nothing to smile about. She's _been_ there, she knows how it is. The ache, the loneliness, and then the empty. A void that swallows and takes and takes and takes.

"Interesting."

Heminger nods. "Yeah. We have files on students the date back to the first time they were introduced into this school system."

"How far does Isabella's go back?"

A few shuffles of paper. "Junior year."

* * *

"Kids." Esme calls, caramel hair swaying back and forth, catching the light. "Will you go set the table?"

From the couch, Emmett and Jasper frantically flick their gazes back and forth between the TV and their mother. "Um." Emmett responds, face torn. "I mean, I can." It's the last ten minutes of a basketball game, the championships, from the way it sounds. Alice watches, amused.

"Don't worry, mom. I can do it."

Esme smiles gratefully, wiping her hands off on the towel hanging from the oven. "Thank you, dear." She continues, smiling kindly. Alice is filled with love. "How was school today?"

From where Esme couldn't see, she rolled her eyes. How could she say "awful" without making Esme worried? "It was fine…"

"Just fine?" There's the worry. Deep and under the question.

Alice doesn't know how to tell her it's because Isabella hadn't been showing up to school. How it's because she looks forward to talking to her, seeing the glimmer in her eyes when she's amused, the haze that covers them when she's thinking about something. Would it be hard for Esme and Carlisle to adopt the two siblings? Would they even want to be adopted? Isabella should know, has to know that there's a better life waiting for her. She just can't _see_ it.

Alice can though. She sees it. She sees Esme's arm wrapped around Isabella's shoulder, and for once, for the first time, Isabella's smile is big and full of teeth. Alice's chest melts at the thought. She would give anything, anything to see her smile like that.

"Well, I've just enjoyed the sun so much recently, and now that the clouds are coming back — it kind of sucks."

Alice turns around to see the critical gaze that Esme has, clearly trying to decipher whether or not Alice is telling the truth. Alice stills, makes sure that she's smiling but that it isn't too stuck, isn't too forced. "Really, mom."

Esme relents. "I've definitely thought about taking you guys out of school the text time it gets sunny to go, I don't know, hiking or something." The oven beeps, she continues to talk when she goes over to it, pulls out a pan with aluminum covering it. Alice knows immediately that it's a casserole recipe she's wanted to try for a few weeks now. Maybe a mashed potato casserole, that, or the green bean one.

It's slight at first. Something she thinks is just a figment of her imagination. Something on the periphery, a ghost not wanting to be caught, not wanting to disturb. Then, it's a train, full speed, unstoppable. In the back of her mind, she knows she's talking to Esme. But reality is blurry, fuzzy around the edges — like a video you're trying to watch but it doesn't have a good connection to the wifi.

"Esme." Alice says, voice a million years away, a hundred, present but far in the future and so close in the past. "Is something burning, do you think?"

"Burning?" Esme asks and Alice can't see her face. Watching from above, she knows she's just dropped the dinner plates, knows the glass is at her feet. "Alice? What's going on?" Silence. Silence. "Alice!"

Her vision grows black. Then she's in a field of simmering embers, black dirt is under her fingernails. Screams. She tries to find the source and she looks to her left, her right.

It's a massacre. A boneyard. Half arms lay next to her knee. Alice yelps, scrambles back, but she can't hear herself. She only hears the screams of an animal, the roaring of an animal dying, maybe.

Her hands are dripping, dripping with blood.

Scared, she scrambles to her feet, calls out for Esme, for Carlisle, for Rosalie, for Edward, for Jasper. Anyone, anyone.

The air is still burning, the earth on fire.

Looks to her left, to her right. Stops.

There's a man on the ground, body half burned away, the other half on fire. He's screaming and clawing at the ground, the whispers of prayers on his lips. He pushes against something and pleads. It's only then does Alice realize that there's a girl in white kneeling over him, face in the crook of his neck.

The man spits up blood, gurgles out of his mouth, and Alice watches as his eyes roll into the back of his head. The girl pulls away.

All Alice sees are ruby red eyes and bloody fangs that extend past her bottom lip, the blur of charcoal across her face, before her vision goes black again.


End file.
